


but not tonight

by oryx



Series: OT3 is best [2]
Category: Inazuma Eleven, Inazuma Eleven GO
Genre: Established Relationship, Multi, Polyamory, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 06:10:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1417960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oryx/pseuds/oryx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times Gouenji gets woken up, and one time he does the waking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but not tonight

**Author's Note:**

> approximately 84 yrs later, i finally finish the follow-up thing i said i'd write for in between days, and continue my holy quest to make mamonatsushuu into A Thing. will this quest be successful? (all signs point to "no," unfortunately, but a gal can dream.)  
> also i haven't slept in like two days so if there are any typos i, uh. i'm sorry.

I.  
 

He is jolted awake by a startlingly loud noise.

 

Being wrenched so abruptly from sleep (from a good dream, nonetheless) is nothing if not alarming. He lies there in bleary, fearful confusion for several moments, blinking up at the ceiling with his heartbeat pounding fast. His arms refuse to move, pinned to his sides by some kind of restraint, and panic begins to set in, twisting hot in the pit of his stomach –

 

The hazy veil of drowsiness fades away, then, and with it comes realization: he is not, in fact, in any kind of immediate danger. Endou has merely wrapped himself around Shuuya in his sleep, hugging him tight like one would hug a body pillow. He is snoring at a rather deafening decibel directly into his ear.

 

Shuuya’s panic leaves him as quick as it came, replaced instead by weariness. He glances over at the clock and sighs. Three in the morning. Wonderful. He sets about extricating himself from Endou’s grasp, which proves to be just as difficult as usual. (You’re never truly aware of a goalkeeper’s arm strength until you’ve had them clinging to you unconsciously.) After a minute or so of struggling he’s finally free, and he sits on the edge of the bed, looking down at Endou’s sleeping face with a kind of exasperated fondness. He reaches out to pull the blanket over Endou’s shoulders, and it is only then that he notices Natsumi’s absence. Her side of the bed is conspicuously empty, and from the racket Endou is making it doesn’t take many guesses to ascertain why.

 

Sure enough, he finds her curled up on the couch in the living room, watching the kind of quiet old movie they only ever air at ungodly hours. She glances up at him and laughs softly.

 

“You too, huh?”

 

He nods, feeling his lips curve into a wry smile. She pats the seat next to her and he joins her gladly, settling in close enough that their shoulders touch and her hair brushes soft against his arm.

 

“Normally I just kick him whenever he starts snoring,” Natsumi says, an amused glint in her eye. “But he had such a tiring day yesterday. I couldn’t stand the thought of disturbing him. Did he still have you in that vice grip when you woke up?”

 

Shuuya raises an eyebrow. “You saw that and just abandoned me? That’s rather cruel of you.”

 

She laughs again, putting a comforting hand on his knee. “I am sorry, Shuuya, really I am, but I’m afraid it’s an ‘every man for himself’ type of situation. And from a logical standpoint it’s better you than me. I accidentally punched him in the face once, trying to escape from one of his ‘sleep hugs.’ _That_ is an experience neither of us would care to repeat.”

 

Shuuya stares at her. (And so the mystery of Endou’s broken nose back in their senior year of college comes to a somewhat unexpected close…)

 

“What movie is this?” he asks, as his attention is caught by movement on the tv screen. He assumes the film must be from the fifties or the sixties, what with the crisp black-and-white visuals and the traditional dress of the actors and the slow, thoughtful pace of the dialogue.

 

“‘An Inlet of Muddy Water,’” Natsumi recites. “1953. Which is… a bit strange to think about, isn’t it? Watching a movie made almost a century ago? Strange to think that all of these people have been gone for decades, when they seem so alive on the screen…”

 

He glances over at her. She’s frowning thoughtfully at the television, eyes glassy and reflective, face turned pale in the fluorescent glow. When she notices him looking she smiles, a tad sheepish.

 

“Or perhaps it’s not strange at all, and I’m just slowly losing my mind from lack of sleep,” she laughs. “Either option is plausible.”

 

“No,” he says, after a moment of contemplation. “I get what you mean. But… you do seem pretty exhausted. I’m surprised you haven’t fallen asleep right here.”

 

“Perhaps I was just waiting for the perfect pillow,” she says teasingly, and leans over to rest her head on his shoulder, sighing in relief as she closes her eyes. “You don’t mind, do you, Shuuya? I promise it won’t be for too long. I have to get up at six or so anyhow, so it’ll just be… a quick nap, really…”

 

A few minutes later and she is well and truly asleep, breathing evened out, her hand still resting lightly on his knee.

 

Shuuya peers down at her face, torn between amusement and affection. _Is she one of those people who needs to be near someone to sleep?_ he wonders, and smiles at the idea. (He may know Endou like the back of his hand, but Natsumi is still very much new to him despite their long acquaintance. Each day he finds himself learning her – the way she takes her tea (with lemon) and her pet peeves (not turning the lights out when you leave a room, among others) and her favorite book (a dog-eared old romance novel that she keeps hidden behind her other, more respectable fiction).)

 

He tries to watch some of the film but finds his attention slipping, eyes fading in and out of focus, tiredness pulling at him. He rests his cheek against the top of Natsumi’s head, breathing in the now-familiar smell of her shampoo. He also has to get up early. There’s a meeting first thing in the morning that he really shouldn’t be late for. It’ll just be a nap for him as well, he tells himself – just two hours or so. Three hours at the most, but he supposes that’s pushing it –

 

He opens his eyes and is nearly blinded by the sunlight pouring in through the kitchen window. He’s bewildered for a moment – why isn’t he in bed? – until his memory of the night before comes back to him. Natsumi is still sound asleep on his shoulder. Endou is seated across from them, hair damp from the shower, watching the morning news with mild interest.

 

“…What time is it?” Shuuya asks, rubbing at his eyes blearily. His neck is sore from sleeping in such an awkward position.

 

“Ah, hey,” Endou says, giving him a soft smile. “It’s… almost nine thirty, I think?”

 

Shuuya blinks.

 

“ _Nine thirty_?” he echoes. He stares at Endou in sheer disbelief.

 

“Yeah… Is that bad? Should I have woken you up earlier? You two were just so cute sleeping like that…”

 

Shuuya can feel anxiety slowly creeping up on him. (He’s been _late_ far too many times in his life; these days he finds himself a stickler for a schedule.) But somewhere along the line these panicky feelings simply… vanish, leaving only a kind of fatigued bemusement in their place. So he’s not only running several hours late for work, but he somehow managed to sleep through the entirety of his morning meeting. Incredible. He runs a hand through his hair and slumps back against the couch cushions with a sigh. The movement disturbs Natsumi, who makes a startled noise as she’s jolted abruptly out of sleep. Her eyes widen as she takes stock of her situation.

 

“…Oh god, my conference call,” she whispers. Her face is suddenly rather pale. “What time is it? _Please_ don’t tell me it’s past eight.”

 

Shuuya and Endou exchange a wary glance.

 

.

 

.

 

II.  
 

Natsumi apologizes profusely, but Shuuya merely shakes his head.

 

“It’s fine,” he says. “I don’t mind. I’d probably feel out of place anyhow.”

 

 _And explaining what I am to you might prove awkward,_ he thinks but does not say, and he can see the same thought reflected in Natsumi’s eyes.

 

“Are you sure?” she says. “Because we don’t _have_ to go. God knows I’m not particularly anxious to spend time with my haughty college ‘friends’ again. Ugh, the way they acted around Mamoru… Around most of the athletic scholarship students, actually… All smugly amused and condescending. They thought they were so much better.” She scowls, fingers drumming angrily on the countertop. “Mamoru never noticed, of course, but it never failed to piss me off.”

 

“…Natsumi,” Shuuya says, raising an eyebrow. “Are you trying to use me as an excuse to get out of attending?”

 

She stares at him for a moment before sighing. “Is it that obvious?” she says, and her laugh is weary. “Weddings are just so _tiring_ , Shuuya… But I suppose Chisaki did come to ours, so it’s only right that we should go to hers…”

 

“You guys talking about the wedding?” They both glance out the kitchen window to find Endou leaning on the sill, grinning up at them. “You coming, Gouenji? It’d be more fun with you there. To tell the truth I’m… still not entirely sure who’s getting married…?” He laughs and rubs at the back of his neck sheepishly. “Their names ring a bell, I guess, but for the life of me I can’t remember what they look like.”

 

“Ah… no,” Shuuya says softly. “They’ve got a fairly strict ‘plus one’ policy in place, it seems. But I’m sure you two will enjoy yourselves despite me not being there.”

 

“Hmm. Yeah, I guess,” Endou says, with a thoughtful frown. His eyes brighten a moment later, and he laughs again. “Don’t miss us too much while we’re gone, alright? It’s what – three whole days? Might be tough.”

 

“…I’ll try my best to stay sane without you,” Shuuya says, the corner of his mouth curling into a faint, wry smile.

 

(It’s strange, though. “Three days” suddenly sounds a great deal longer than it ever has before.)

 

.

 

The first day is easy.

 

He brings some work home from the office and finishes it all in record time. He goes for a run along the riverbank and stops to observe a tenacious little girl attempting a Fire Tornado (he gives her a few pointers before jogging away). He watches the second half of the Kawasaki vs. Nagoya game while cooking dinner (he’s certainly no chef, but at the very least his meals are edible).

 

He hears a repetitive noise from outside and assumes it must be Endou, out in the backyard juggling a ball like he always does when he’s deep in thought, but – wait, no. Endou isn’t here, he reminds himself sternly. In the end it’s just the neighbor hammering away at some home improvement project, and all of a sudden the house seems a great deal quieter and emptier, the rooms much too large for one person. Shuuya frowns and turns up the volume on the television.

 

The first day is easy.

 

.

 

The second day he starts to feel a bit… _on edge_.

 

He calls up Toramaru as soon as he gets home from work; asks if he’d like to go out for drinks or dinner later.

 

“Oh yeah,” Toramaru says. “Endou and Natsumi are at that wedding, right? Are you lonely without them, Gouenji-san?” His tone is good-natured and teasing, but there is a hint of sincerity to his words all the same.

 

Shuuya pulls the phone away from his ear and blinks at it. Lonely? What a strange idea. Not long ago (in a different life, he likes to think) weeks would go by when he wouldn’t speak to anyone but Toramaru, and even then only in a detached, impersonal manner, wary of those who might be listening in. He has long grown accustomed to being apart from others – to that certain kind of silence that sets in when you’ve been alone and listless long enough, when you’re able to vividly recall the last time someone spoke your name. So how would it be possible, for him to be _lonely_ after a mere two days of Endou and Natsumi’s absence?

 

“Gouenji-san?” Toramaru is saying. “Are you still there?”

 

“…Yes,” Shuuya says, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts. “I’ll… I’ll see you at eight, then, if that’s fine with you? At Rairaiken?”

 

“Ah, yeah, sounds good. Tobitaka will be happy to see you, y’know. I think he’s been worried about you this whole time. The other day he asked me if you’ve been ‘eating properly’ and I wasn’t sure what to tell him, since you live with Natsumi now and all…”

 

Shuuya can’t help but smile at that. Mealtime with Natsumi is indeed a constant struggle – he and Endou often brainstorm new excuses to get her out of the kitchen. But strangely enough, in a sense he’s almost… proud? He _does_ live with Natsumi now. He gets the “privilege” of being “treated” to her “cooking” nearly every single day. It’s not something he should feel happy about. And yet.

 

Tobitaka does seem somehow relieved when Shuuya walks into Rairaiken later that evening. He even comes out from behind the counter to give him an awkward one-armed hug (followed by a clearing of the throat and a curt nod, clearly embarrassed with himself over such an open display of affection).

 

It’s nice, Shuuya thinks, as he sits and has a beer and listens to Toramaru’s easygoing ramblings.

 

It’s nice, but soon enough it’s over and they’ve all gone their separate ways and Shuuya is back at the house, where the silence and stillness seem far more pronounced than they were yesterday.

 

He sleeps on the couch because the bed feels too empty.

 

.

 

On the third day he finds his mind wandering.

 

“Uh… sir?” his secretary, Nakamura, says. He promptly snaps back to attention, tearing his gaze away from his phone, where Endou’s message ( _we’ll probably be back around midnight!! see you then_ ) has been open for the past five minutes. Nakamura is staring at him in confusion from across the desk. “Are you alright?”

 

“Ah… yes. I’m sorry. You were saying…?”

 

“I was just explaining how we’ve gotten several club expansion requests from schools in Chiba and Ibaraki over the past week. Some of them seem legitimate, but others don’t appear to have the membership to back it up, and I was hoping to have you look over their information… But we can always do it another time, if you’d like? You seem a bit… unwell.”

 

“Unwell?” He frowns. “No, I’m… I’m fine. Just tired, I think.”

 

Nakamura nods sympathetically but doesn’t quite seem convinced. “I’ll send the files to your tablet as soon as I can. In the meantime, maybe you should consider a break? You’ve been working all morning, after all.” She levels him with a somewhat admonishing look, then, and bows her way out of the room, but in the doorway she pauses, and seems to war with herself for a moment before turning back. “Sir, do you mind if I ask a personal question?”

 

He stares at her, slightly taken aback. He supposes he must have left an intimidating impression on his coworkers (“an unfortunate tendency of yours,” Natsumi claims), as this is the first time any of them have tried to speak with him about anything other than work. “Not at all,” he says.

 

“Do you have anyone _special_ in your life?”

 

He raises an eyebrow.

 

“I’m not asking for me, of course,” Nakamura continues hastily. “I’m quite happily taken.” Her smile turns sly. “But I’m friends with a girl down in HR who finds you very handsome. She’s always going on about how charming you are.”

 

Shuuya blinks. ‘Charming’? That’s one he hasn’t heard in quite a while, and all of a sudden it’s like he’s back in highschool again, being called out for a confession and feeling that inexplicable distance stretching between himself and the blushing girl from class 2B, whose name escaped him then and still escapes him now. “You barely know me,” he’d wanted to say. And: “I’m desperately in love with my best friend.” But in the end he’d simply settled on: “I’m sorry, but there’s someone else I like.”

 

“…My apologies to your friend,” he says finally, and it feels a bit like déjà vu, “but yes, I do have someone special.”

 

(The only difference is that nowadays, he finds himself smiling as he says it.)

 

.

 

Sounds of drawers being opened and the shower running snap him out of his vague half-sleep.

 

“Ah, sorry,” Endou whispers. It’s dark enough that only his silhouette is visible. “Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

 

“…It’s fine,” Shuuya murmurs, blinking away his tiredness and reaching over to turn on the bedside lamp. “I was barely asleep anyhow.”

 

Endou grins at him from across the room. He’s still wearing his dress shirt from the wedding, the top few buttons undone, and Shuuya finds himself staring at the exposed line of his collarbone, the hollow of his throat. His tie is hanging loose around his neck, and Shuuya watches his hands intently as he reaches up to loosen it further. Shuuya blinks. His mind is suddenly, strangely blank. Perhaps… he is a little more tired than he had previously thought.

 

“It’s too bad you couldn’t come,” Endou is saying. “We met some pretty great people there. This one guy – I think he said he was the bride’s cousin? – turned out to be a big soccer fan, so we talked about that for a while. Apparently he plays on a local team with some of his neighbors. And I sat next to this old lady who turned out to be the groom’s grandma. She was telling me all these ridiculous stories about her life. Something about spending three years in Siberia? I don’t even know, man…”

 

Shuuya is trying desperately to pay attention. But Endou has started undoing the rest of the buttons on his shirt, and for some reason he’s unable to focus on anything else.

 

“Oi, Gouenji? You okay?” Endou walks over and leans in close, reaching out to brush Shuuya’s hair back, palm warm against his temple. Shuuya leans into the touch without meaning to.

 

“Ah… yeah,” he says. He _is_ feeling better, actually – the bizarre tension of the past few days all but faded away.

 

Endou smiles. “I missed you,” he says softly, and closes the distance to kiss him.

 

 _I missed you, too,_ Shuuya wants to say. But saying these things aloud has never come easy to him like it has to Endou. Straightforward words like “I love you” get caught in his throat whenever he tries to speak them. Instead, Shuuya reaches out to splay a hand on Endou’s chest, right above his heartbeat. His other hand combs through Endou’s hair, tangling at the nape of his neck to pull him closer. Little gestures are all he can do, in the end, in the absence of words. He hopes that they’re enough.

 

“Mamoru,” Natsumi groans. The bed dips as she climbs in, and Endou and Shuuya hastily break apart, rearranging themselves to make room for her. “How are you still so energetic? I feel like I’ve been… I don’t know, run over by a _car_ or something. Good god. Weddings are the devil, and no one will ever convince me otherwise.”

 

“Except for ours, right?” Endou says, grinning.

 

“Precisely,” Natsumi says. “Our wedding was without flaw.” She shifts closer to Shuuya, and he lifts an arm so that she can rest her head on his chest. (She leans up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth before doing so.)

 

“You’re so much better to sleep with, Shuuya,” she murmurs. Her eyes are already drifting shut little by little. Her hair is still wet from the shower, seeping through the worn-thin material of Shuuya’s shirt, but he can’t really bring himself to care. “In the actual sleeping sense, I mean. Mamoru’s just so clingy, and sometimes he mutters things in his sleep…”

 

“…Seriously?” Endou’s eyes are wide. “What kind of stuff do I say?”

 

“It’s mostly soccer-related,” Shuuya informs him. Nothing like having Endou grab you in the dead of night and whisper _try the hissatsu tactics_ directly into your ear.

 

(It happens that morning, actually. Shuuya wakes around four to find himself caught in yet another one of Endou’s too-tight embraces. He’s muttering something about switching from man-to-man coverage to zone defense.

 

Shuuya sighs and sits up; loosens Endou’s grip just enough so that he can breathe, then settles in again, his back pressed warm against Endou’s familiar weight, Natsumi curled up close against his chest.

 

It still manages to be the best sleep he’s gotten in quite a while.)

 

.

 

.

 

III.  
  


In the end, he supposes, his habit of forgetting to power down his phone before going to sleep turns out to be a blessing in disguise. It rings sometime around five in the morning, waking him abruptly, and he gropes around for it with a sigh, dragging it up to his ear without bothering to check the caller ID.

 

“Nii-chan,” his sister’s voice says. She sounds like she’s been crying, and he immediately hauls himself up into a sitting position, all traces of drowsiness gone in a flash. “It’s Father, he…”

 

“What happened?” he asks, a tight feeling in his chest.

 

“I… I don’t know,” she says. Her words are shaky, breath coming quick. “I think they said it was a heart attack, but I wasn’t really… Um. W-we’re at the hospital now. Can you… can you meet us here? Please? I don’t know what to do. I don’t – ”

 

“Yuuka,” Shuuya says. His voice sounds far calmer than he is. “Sit down and take a deep breath, alright? Father will be fine. It would take much more than a simple heart attack to kill him.” This gets a weak laugh out of her, which he takes to be a good sign. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, okay? Hang on until then.”

 

“…Shuuya?” Natsumi murmurs. She hides a yawn behind her hand as she sits up. “What’s the matter?”

 

“My father’s in the hospital,” he says tersely. He holds up a shirt, squinting at it in the semidarkness, and hopes that it’s clean as he tugs it over his head.

 

“What?? Oh god, is he alright?”

 

“I’m sure he will be. He’s far too stubborn to die. But for now I need to, uh… I need…” He trails off, then, and takes a deep breath, scrubbing a hand across his face. Some part of his mind must still be asleep, he thinks – his thoughts are muddled and difficult to grasp. The pounding of his pulse keeps drowning them out.

 

“Keys,” he says finally. “I need my keys.”

 

“They’re on the table in the hall,” Natsumi says. “But are you sure you’re okay to drive? I can wake Mamoru up if you want, he hasn’t driven in a while but I doubt the few minutes to the hospital would be terribly taxing – ”

 

“No,” Shuuya says quickly. “No, it’s… I’m fine. Don’t concern yourselves.”

 

“…‘Don’t concern ourselves’?” She makes an aggravated noise. “Shuuya, please. Now is hardly the time to be saying things like that. You go, and we’ll meet you there as soon as possible. Okay?”

 

Distantly, he can feel himself nod in agreement.

 

Later he won’t remember the drive to the hospital – only Yuuka’s panic-stricken face when he finally reaches the emergency room. To anyone else she would appear calm, if not a bit red around the eyes, but he knows her well enough to know better. He can see the way her fingers are twisting the hem of her shirt into knots. He sits down next to her on the waiting room bench and she seems to wilt, almost, taciturn expression faltering, leaning against him tiredly.

 

“I told her it wasn’t necessary for her to be here,” Fuku-san sighs. She’s seated on the other side of Yuuka, knitting resting in her lap, though she doesn’t seem to be working on it at all. (‘Knitting with a troubled mind never works out well,’ she’d said once, a long time ago.) “But of course she didn’t listen to me.”

 

Yuuka lifts her head from Shuuya’s shoulder and scowls. “How am I supposed to stay home while Father is in the ER? I’m not going to _abandon_ him.”

 

“I know, dear,” Fuku-san murmurs, reaching out to pat her knee comfortingly. “But I also know that this place isn’t good for you. For either of you. Too many bad memories.”

 

Yuuka opens her mouth to argue but promptly closes it again, unable to deny this accusation.

 

“You should go home,” Shuuya says softly. “You have school in a few hours, and you know how Father is. He wouldn’t want you missing class because of him.”

 

“…Not you too, nii-chan,” Yuuka mutters, but a minute later she sighs wearily and pushes herself to her feet. “Fine,” she says. “I’ll go home. It’s probably for the best anyhow – these fluorescent lights are giving me a migraine. But you have to promise to text me every few hours, alright? Especially if something… happens.” She swallows hard at this last word.

 

“Of course,” Shuuya promises. He almost doesn’t want to let her go – doesn’t want to be alone in this place with memories of her younger self’s pale face and shallow breathing, with the ghost of their mother smiling at him from every empty hospital bed. But in the end, of course, he says nothing, and watches her and Fuku-san leave with a kind of hollow relief. He’s a poor excuse for an older brother, to even contemplate relying on her like that. Yuuka is too young to have to deal with such things.

 

(“He’s doing fine,” Doctor Matsumoto tells him, a half an hour later. “Once he’s situated in his room you can go in to see him straight away.”

 

He texts Yuuka as much. _No need to worry,_ he tacks on to the end.

 

 _lol please_ , she replies. _as if there were any reason to be worried about him to begin with_. _there’s no way that stubborn old man would die so easily._

 

Shuuya stares down at the message for a moment, then smiles and shakes his head exasperatedly. Sometimes he misses the days of sweet little Yuuka-chan greeting him at the door when he came home from school, displaying crayon drawings of the two of them together, proudly proclaiming that she would “marry nii-chan one day.”

 

But grown-up Yuuka, he supposes, is still cute in her own way.)

 

.

 

“Father,” he says.

 

His father doesn’t look up from his phone; merely “hmm?”s disinterestedly and continues to scroll through the morning news, tsking now and then at headlines he deems unacceptable. Shuuya never thought it was possible for anyone to look intimidating from a hospital bed, but somehow his father manages it.

 

“Father, I think you need to take a vacation.”

 

“…A vacation?” At long last he glances up, mouth curving into a frown. “Nonsense. I don’t have time for that.”

 

“You’re stressed, Father. That’s what Doctor Matsumoto said. You focus too much on your patients and end up forgetting about yourself. You’re not a young man anymore – you can’t keep working such long shifts and expect – ”

 

“I am well aware of my own limitations, Shuuya.” His father’s voice is sharp, and he can see that familiar, flinty edge forming in his eyes. “Or do you presume to know what’s best for me?”

 

Shuuya can feel a headache coming on. “Maybe I do,” he says heatedly, and watches his father’s scowl deepen, “seeing how detrimental your current schedule has been to your health. If you would just agree to take a few days off now and then – ”

 

“Ahh, sorry we’re late!” Natsumi’s voice says, and Shuuya glances over to see her and Endou peering in through the doorway. “Mind if we come in?”

 

His father looks a tad taken aback as he nods. Clearly he wasn’t expecting any other visitors.

 

“It probably would’ve been faster just to walk, in the end,” Natsumi sighs, revealing a large bouquet of brightly-coloured flowers as she enters. She sets about arranging them on the bedside table, and his father blinks at them like he’s not quite sure what they are. “Of all the times for there to be maintenance delays on the Blue Line… But anyhow. How are you feeling, Gouenji-san?”

 

“… Well enough, thank you,” his father says gruffly. He seems to be at a loss, and Shuuya quickly intervenes before Natsumi can delve any further.

 

“Father, you remember Endou, right?” (Endou has casually pulled up a chair by the side of the bed; he grins and lifts a hand when his name is mentioned.) “And his wife, Natsumi?”

 

Recognition dawns on his father’s face. “Oh, of course… Raimon’s daughter, yes? My apologies. You were both still in high school when I last saw you…”

 

“Oh no, that’s entirely understandable,” Natsumi laughs, waving aside his concerns. “We’ve changed quite a bit since those days. You know my father, Gouenji-san?”

 

“We are acquainted, yes. I make it a point to know everyone involved in the inner workings of this town – helps to keep the hospital running smoothly, I find. He’s a good man.”

 

“He would be pleased to hear you say that,” Natsumi says, smiling. “I’m sure he thinks quite highly of you as well – ”

 

“D’you play golf, Gouenji-san?” Endou asks.

 

They all turn to stare at him. He doesn’t seem to realize that he’s interrupted something – he’s frowning pensively, rubbing his chin in that way he does when he’s deep in thought.

 

“…Golf?” his father echoes. His brow furrows, confusion evident. “Well I… certainly wouldn’t call myself a ‘golf player,’ but I have played in the past. Why do you ask?”

 

“Nah, it’s just – Souichiro and my old man, they play on the weekends sometimes. They used to have a third guy, but he hurt his knee a while back, and they’ve been looking for someone else to take his spot. You think you might be interested? Once you’re back on your feet, I mean? Golf with only two people is pretty boring, apparently. ‘Least that’s what my old man tells me.”

 

 _Oh_ , Shuuya thinks, and is struck by a sudden surge of affection. He gets it now. Endou must have overheard part of his conversation with his father, and is trying, in his own laid-back manner, to do what Shuuya has rarely been able to: convince a willful middle-aged man to change his ways.

 

“Ah, well,” his father is saying, clearing his throat awkwardly, “since you put it that way, I suppose I could make time for a quick round of golf now and again… It would be a good chance to discuss some things with Raimon, at the very least.”

 

“Exactly,” Endou says with a grin. “I hear they have ‘meetings on the golf course’ all the time over in America. And speaking of sports – you like soccer, right, Gouenji-san? You been watching the Cup?”

 

Shuuya leans back in his seat, blinking in amazement as his father begins a steady, garden-variety conversation about soccer with Endou, even… smiling slightly while doing so? Dear god. He wonders, briefly, if this is all some sort of bizarre dream that he’ll soon wake up from.

 

“Did he just set up a playdate for our parents?” he whispers to Natsumi, who has to turn away to hide her laughter.

 

“Seems that way,” she whispers back. “I was worried he might try to ask for your hand in marriage or something, so all in all this is going a lot better than I’d expected.”

 

“Shuuya,” his father says, during a break in conversation. Endou seems to have brightened his mood considerably, as his tone of voice is almost _polite_. “Fetch me a coffee from the cafeteria, will you? Tell them who it’s for – they know how I take it. And bring something for our guests as well.”

 

Shuuya nods and sighs inwardly as he gets to his feet, making a mental note to swap his father’s coffee with decaf. Recent heart attack victims should probably not be downing caffeine.

 

He’s almost to the door when Endou calls after him: “Oh, Gouenji!”

 

Shuuya looks back at the exact moment that his father says “yes?”

 

The room falls silent, then, as the three of them exchange bewildered stares.

 

“…Ah, no,” Endou says, with a sheepish laugh. “I meant, uh… Shuuya.”

 

He says it casually enough, but all the same there is an undercurrent of sentiment and significance to it, and Shuuya feels something swoop disconcertingly in the pit of his stomach. They lock eyes from across the room. Shuuya’s fingers curl tight around the door handle. “Yeah?” he says, and his voice comes out a bit breathless.

 

“I…” Endou frowns. “I don’t really know. I can’t remember what I was going to ask.” He laughs again, apologetic this time, and Natsumi shakes her head, throwing her hands up as if to say ‘what can you do?’

 

When Shuuya returns ten minutes later with drinks in hand, he holds out Endou’s coffee hesitantly.

 

“Mamoru,” he says, testing it out, feeling the weight of it on his tongue. _Mamoru. Ma-mo-ru._ It’s such a quiet, unassuming name, he’s always thought. Ironic that it would belong to this person, who shines so bright that sometimes Shuuya has to look away.

 

Endou damn near jumps at his name being spoken; spins around in his seat and stares up at Shuuya with wide, startled eyes. He makes a soft, dazed “ah” sound, and Shuuya watches, astonished, as his cheeks turn a faint shade of pink.

 

For all the years they’ve known each other, Shuuya can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Endou truly flustered. And he’s been wondering for a while now. Wondering what it might take to catch Endou off guard – to see him blush and stammer in a way wholly unbefitting of his character.

 

(The answer, it seems, might be far simpler than he had ever imagined.)

 

.

 

.

 

Ø.

 

There’s a package waiting for him on his desk. Small and square, wrapped in brown paper and tied with an old-fashioned bow made of string.

 

“I’m… not entirely sure who that’s from?” Nakamura says, noticing where he’s looking. She frowns. “It just showed up there earlier… No return address or anything. Very strange.”

 

He walks over and picks up the small box, turning it over in his hand. “Thank you, Nakamura,” he murmurs. “That will be all for now.”

 

She bows and turns to leave, but once again hesitates in the doorway, worry and apprehension flickering across her face.

 

“Sir,” she says quietly. “When did you come in this morning?”

 

“Around five or so,” he answers. He takes a seat and begins to pull at the string, unraveling the frayed knot that holds the bow in place.

 

“… Five?” Nakamura echoes. Her eyes are wide. “But sir, it’s… it’s almost ten PM right now. You’ve been here this entire time?”

 

“Is there a problem?” Shuuya asks, glancing up at her sharply.

 

“No! No, of course not! I just… I’m starting to get a little concerned, is all. You were here all day yesterday too, weren’t you? Are you getting enough sleep, sir? Are you eating? At all? I know this is a tough time for you, but taking care of yourself is what’s most important – ”

 

“Nakamura,” Shuuya interrupts, and levels her with a pointed stare. “ _That will be all_.”

 

For a moment she looks as if she might cry (not for herself, he knows). But then she simply nods, lips pressed together in a thin, wavering line, eyes downcast as she shuts the door behind her with a click of finality. Shuuya stares after her, feeling suddenly very tired. He reaches for the package on his desk just for something to do with his hands – unwraps the brown paper to find something not unlike a small jewelry box, with odd designs decorating the lid. He opens it, and inside is…

 

A bracelet.

 

He lifts it up to the light. It’s not an average piece of jewelry, that much is obvious. The reflective surface inlaid on it seems more like a small touchscreen than anything, and his thumb hovers over what looks like a power button. It must have some sort of purpose, then. He frowns and peers into the jewelry box once more, wondering if there might be instructions, but finds only a tiny scrap of paper with a note scribbled on it in messy longhand.

 

_History can be rewritten._

 

.

 

The house is dark when he lets himself in.

 

Natsumi is curled up asleep on the couch in the living room, hugging a pillow close as if it were a person. Shuuya reaches out to wake her and hesitates, realizing with a start that she’s wearing Endou’s old sweatshirt, one of the few that still smells like him. There’s a sudden, aching tightness in his throat.

 

“Natsumi,” he says. He shakes her by the shoulder gently. She makes a faint, muzzy noise as she comes to, blinking blearily up at him.

 

“…Shuuya? What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing’s wrong. Don’t worry. I just…” He trails off, tracing a thumb along the smooth surface of the bracelet, unsure of where to begin. “Natsumi, we’ve seen some strange things, haven’t we?”

 

She tilts her head to the side. There are dark circles beneath her eyes now, he notices. Her face seems so much paler and thinner than the Natsumi he knows. The Natsumi he loves. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that she had been replaced by a cheap imitation.

 

“Strange things?” she echoes. “Well I suppose so, yes…”

 

“So if I told you that he was still alive,” Shuuya says softly. “Would you believe me?”

 

He can see the moment when her breath catches in her throat.

 

She sits up a bit taller, leaning forward to grip his arm tightly, like she’s afraid he might leave unless she clings to him. Her eyes – flat and dull just a second ago – have regained a faint spark of brightness, a bit of that fire that he’s so used to seeing in her.

 

“Yes,” she says finally, breathless and cautiously hopeful. “I would.”


End file.
